


Dance until Tomorrow

by agent85



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Dancing, Endgame Fitzsimmons, F/M, Fluff, Small Towns, dance marathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 15:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10767429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: When Jemma Simmons shows up to compete in the town's dance marathon, her goal is just to help her boyfriend, Milton, to win the title. But when he chooses another partner last minute, she's all dressed up with no one to dance with.Luckily, Fitz volunteers.





	Dance until Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a [drabble prompt](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/post/160141094872/fs-14-please-if-it-inspires-you) for [karasimmons](http://karasimmons.tumblr.com/), but it spiraled way out of control. 
> 
> Please enjoy this small town AU, brought to you by that one Gilmore Girls episode.

“Carré?”

“Simmons,” said Milton, “I’m sorry, it’s just—I need a partner who’s more prepared?”

Jemma cocked her head at him, squinting.

_“Carré?”_

Milton looked over his shoulder to where Carré stood, glaring back at the both of them.

“Simmons, it’s just that I really have to win this thing. And she’s _French_.”

Jemma was about to ask what being French had to do with anything, but it was early, she hadn’t had her tea, and what kind of man ran off with someone else fifteen minutes before he was supposed to be your partner in a dance marathon?

What kind of man ran off with anyone else at all?

It was such a shocking turn of events that she stood there, staring after him, until she felt a nudge at her arm.

“Here you go. Sorry it took so long.”

Before she knew it a large, strong, steaming cup of tea was placed in her hand, and she could only watch Fitz as he sipped a cup of his own. After a few seconds, he furrowed his brow.

“What’s wrong?”

“Milton,” she said. Fitz looked confused before he followed her gaze until he almost dropped his tea.

“He dumped you for Carré?”

Her only consolation was that Fitz seemed absolutely appalled.

“No,” she said, “he just . . . doesn’t want to be my dance partner, because I’m not French.”

“What?” Fitz looked to his left, then to his right, and then put his tea in her hand.

“Fitz?”

“I’ll be right back,” he said. “Drink your tea.”

Having been left by two men in the span of five minutes, Jemma thought that drinking her tea seemed the only logical thing to do. She was halfway through her cup when Fitz returned, gasping for breath.

“Fitz?”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Coulson let me sign up when I explained what happened. Are you done?”

Her only thought that it was usually her and not Fitz who was this chipper at six in the morning. But Fitz must have taken her contemplation as an answer in the affirmative, because he took his cup and hers and threw them both in the nearby bin.

“Okay,” May called out over the loudspeaker, “all participating couples must be on the dance floor by the time the starting bell is rung. The dance begins in twenty seconds.”

There was a mad dash towards the floor, but Jemma stood still, not sure why Fitz was holding his hand out to her.

“Fitz?”

He looked up at the clock, then winced. “Sorry.” He took in a deep breath. “Can I, uh, have this dance?”

Jemma looked around at the crowd, the dance officials, and the other couples. When her gaze landed on Milton and Carré, she took Fitz’s hand.

“Yes.”

They ran to the dance floor, Fitz tugging Jemma along while Jemma tried desperately not to fall.

“Ten,” May counted down, “nine, eight, seven, six . . .”

She almost stumbled over what looked like Hunter’s shoe, but managed to stay upright.

“Five, four, three, two . . .”

Fitz practically leapt onto the floor, spinning Jemma into his arms until they stopped, with her right hand in his left, and her left hand on his shoulder.

“One!”

As the starting bell was rung, Jemma was overcome by a profound and unexpected sense of victory.

* * *

By hour three, Fitz’s enthusiasm was waning.

“How long is this supposed to last again?”

Jemma tried not to look at the clock, but did anyway. 

“Twenty-one more hours. Or until everyone else drops out. Whichever comes first.”

Fitz pursed his lips. “We aren’t giving up, are we?”

Jemma gaped at him. “Fitz! You’re the one who dragged me into this! Almost literally!””

“Well!” He shrugged. “You needed help!”

She scoffed at him. “Oh, so you just see a sad girl and decide to sign up for some unknown competition, before you even know what you’re competing for?”

“Not _any_ sad girl,” he said. “What _are_ we competing for?”

Jemma narrowed her gaze at him. “A trophy. A rather large trophy, I’ve been told.”

“Since when do you care about dancing trophies?”

“I don’t! It’s just . . . Milton’s family has won it for the past ten years. And now—”

“And now he’s being a colossal jerk,” Fitz finished. Jemma sighed.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” said Fitz, “so we’re dancing another twenty-one hours because your boyfriend is a colossal jerk, and we’re going to let the whole town see it.” He furrowed his brow, nodding. “We can do that.”

* * *

They were about five hours, twenty-three minutes in when the bell rang to signal the fourth break of the day. Fitz mumbled something about being famished while Jemma nodded, making her way over to the nearest bench. Daisy, who happened to be sitting on the bench, patted the space next to her.

“So you and Fitz, huh?” Daisy leaned in conspiratorially. “I mean, I always knew it would happen, but I didn’t think that your first date would be so public.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Dancing together competitively doesn’t mean anything. Andrew is dancing with Victoria Hand!”

“Yeah,” said Daisy, “and May has been giving them death stares all evening. Besides, Fitz is a million times better than Milton in general, and about a gazillion times better for you, specifically.”

“That’s not a real number, Daisy.”

“Well,” Daisy said, “you know what I mean. Just, think about it, okay? I wasn’t going to say anything, but Milton is kind of the worst. And his head looks like broccoli. And Fitz is doing this whole dance marathon thing even though he hates dancing, just because he wanted to help you.”

Jemma sighed, turning over the day's events in her mind. “His head is more like a brussels sprout, really,” she said. “But you’re right. He is the worst.” 

“Who’s the worst?”

Both Jemma and Daisy turned to see Fitz, who sat down on the bench next to Jemma and handed her a sandwich. 

“Milton, obviously,” Daisy answered. “Who runs off with Carré? She talks in the movies, hates Jemma’s guts, and she has this weird thing about Icelandic yogurt.”

“Wait,” interrupted Jemma. “She hates me?”

“Well, of course she does. She has a thing for Fitz.”

Fitz almost choked. “She . . .  _what_?”

It was just then that the warning bell rang, and Jemma could do nothing but scarf down the rest of her sandwich and endure Daisy’s knowing look.

“Just think about it, Jemma.”

* * *

It was somewhere around hour six that Jemma started to actually consider Daisy’s words. Did people really think that she and Fitz were meant for each other? She adjusted her grip on Fitz’s shoulder and looked around the room. 

Coulson, who was running this whole thing, was deep in a conversation with a cellist in the band that was getting ready to play. May was standing sentinel, and by her steely gaze, Jemma guessed that Andrew was somewhere to her left. Bobbi and Hunter crossed in front of her, somehow arguing and dancing at the same time (though neither of them, Jemma decided, had noticed that Hunter was still missing a shoe). 

Mack, however, seemed to be giving them a strange, almost-wistful look from where he sat on the bleachers. And Daisy? She had a smile bright enough to light up the world. Jemma put her forehead on Fitz’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

It was true that Fitz was a very good friend. It was also true that she liked being with him better than she liked being with anyone in the world.

(When had that happened?)

And here they were, having spent six hours in close, physical proximity, and she felt like they were just getting started. But that didn’t mean she was in love with him, did it? Clearly, she would not be dating another man if she was. 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said.

But when she caught Milton in the corner of her eye, staring at them with something like the look she had seen from May, she wondered if she’d just told a lie.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Milton said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. You were clearly right all along.”

Jemma sipped her cup of water and refused to look at him.

“It’s just that I really need to win this for my dad. He’s really counting on me. As soon as we win this thing, I’ll take you out to dinner. Anywhere you want.”

Jemma could not resist the urge to glare at him.

“It’s a twenty-four hour marathon, Milton. It ends at six in the morning.”

“Then we’ll go out to breakfast! Please, Simmons?” 

Jemma narrowed her gaze, feeling the ache in her feet. She wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him! “No,” she said, “dinner.”

Milton blinked. “What?”

“It’s almost seven o’clock, I’m hungry, and I’m tired from dancing all day,” she said. “Can we just . . . forget about this and go out to dinner?”

Milton balked at her. “Simmons, I _have_ to win this.”

For a second, Jemma wondered if she was being unreasonable. After all, it was a bit unfair to ask a man to choose between his girlfriend and his family. But as she looked into his rather dull eyes, she realized it was more than that.

She shook her head. “Forget what I said. I don’t think dinner would do either of us any good, anyway. Not if you think you can just . . . cast me aside and then pick me up later.” She finished her water and grabbed two pre-filled cups. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to bring these back to Fitz. And Milton?”

He looked up at her, bewildered. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think staying is going to increase your chances of winning at all.”

* * *

“Fitz! Just, tell me what you think.”

Fitz looked up at the ceiling and sighed as they rocked back and forth. “He’s your boyfriend, Jemma. It’s not really any of my business.”

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore,” she says. “Besides, I need something to keep me awake.”

Fitz raised an eyebrow at her. “So, what? You want to talk about Milton? Not something that’s actually stimulating, like the project we’re working on?”

“We’ve spent hours talking about it already.” She cocked her head at him. “But why don’t you think Milton is a stimulating topic of conversation?”

He gave her the look he usually reserved for freshman with irritating questions. “Because I don’t fancy him.”

Jemma shot back a look of her own. “I’m not asking you if you think he’s dreamy; I’m asking you if you think I was being emotional.”

“That’s a trick question.”

“Ugh, Fitz!”

She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, thankful that, at least, her frustration with Fitz was keeping her eyes open.

“He said I wasn’t prepared enough, Fitz. That’s why he ditched me for Carré.”

Fitz almost stopped dancing. “He said that?”

“Yes,” Jemma affirmed, coaxing him back into their usual rhythm. “And then I told him to quit the competition and take me out to dinner, but he wouldn’t.”

“Well,” said Fitz, “I already told you he was a jerk.”

Jemma looked at him, trying to decipher the look in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” answered Fitz. “If he didn’t want to dance with you, he shouldn’t have asked. Now we’re both participating in this ridiculous competition held in this weird little town you dragged me into.”

Jemma rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, come on. You love it here.”

“I do not.”

“You do, too!”

“I do not.”

“If you’d never come here, you never would have tried May’s signature cookies,” Jemma argued. Fitz thought about this for a second.

“Fair point,” he said. “And of course I’m happy to help you win, but Jemma, I don’t know why you need me to figure out if you need to date Milton or not.”

Jemma’s hand slid off of his shoulder. “Fitz, I’ve always liked having you as my second pair of eyes. And it’s been a long day, can you just . . . help me figure this out?”

She looked into his eyes, so soft and blue that she felt, not for the first time, that she wanted to wrap herself up in them. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Okay, fine. I think that . . .” He frowned. “I think that you should date him if you want to. Do you want to?”

Jemma searched her heart, suddenly more honest with herself than she’d been all evening. “No,” she said, somewhat surprised at the answer, “I don’t.”

“Good,” said Fitz, “who needs him, anyway? He doesn’t even call you by your first name.”

She smiled at that, pulling him in tighter. Fitz hesitated, putting his hand on her waist, then her lower back, like he wasn’t sure where it should go.

“It’s a good thing I have you,” she said.

* * *

By hour twenty-one, Jemma was getting well-acquainted with the shape of Fitz’s body. They were so fatigued that they weren’t dancing as much as they were propping each other up, with Jemma’s head tucked into his shoulder and his arms encircled around her. It was nice, she thought, and would have been a whole lot nicer if they didn’t have to do it standing up. Still, when she was able to peek her eyes open, she saw that Milton and Carré were still going strong.

“You okay?”

She squinted up at Fitz. “Hmm?”

He looked down at her, his a face a strange mixture of fatigue and concern. “Does it bother you?” He nodded towards the other couple. “Seeing him with her?”

“Oh,” she said, “it’s not about that.” She didn’t mention that it clearly bothered Milton to see them, and that nearly everyone else seemed to have the opposite reaction. She certainly didn’t tell him that she’d received a wink and thumbs up from Hunter when he and Bobbi had been eliminated. She simply buried herself deeper into his shoulder.

“What’s it about, then?”

“Well,” she said, “I guess it’s—it’s just, being so unimportant to someone.”

“Yeah,” he said, and she might have imagined it, but she thought he hugged her tighter. “Okay.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me, would you Fitz? You’d stick with me, even if partnering with Carré would win you a Nobel prize?”

When he chuckled, she felt it rumble through her. “Carré? I’m more likely to win a Nobel prize on my own.”

She wanted to sigh. “If it was like that though, if she was different, would you? To win?”

“Why would I want to win if you weren’t winning with me?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his curious frown. “Would you want to win without me?” 

For a second, she imagined herself on a stage, holding an award with no Fitz to be seen. Somehow, it seemed so empty.

“No,” she said. “You’re my best friend in the world.”

“Yeah,” he said, and for a second she thought he was going to say something else, that he drew a big breath into his lungs like his next words were important. But he let it go. 

“Yeah,” he said.

* * *

“I know you usually don’t drink coffee, but—”

Jemma took the thermos out of Daisy’s hand and gulped it down, wiping off her lips before handing it to Fitz, who did the same.

“Okaaaay,” said Daisy, “I guess these are desperate times.”

“We’re so exhausted,” said Jemma, “and you are a very good friend.”

“A _great_ friend,” Fitz affirmed between gulps. He handed the thermos back to Jemma, who finished it off.

“Yeah, I woke up before the sun and everything,” Daisy joked. “But you guys are doing okay?”

“We’d do better if Milton would fall over instead of staring at us with his beady little eyes,” said Fitz. “What is it with him, anyway?”

“Well,” offered Daisy, “it might be the fact that you’ve basically stolen his girlfriend.”

Fitz’s balk probably came out a lot stronger than he meant it. “Me? Steal his girlfriend? Well.”

“Well,” Daisy said, “you’ve got to admit, it looks a little funny with you draped all over each other like that. I’m pretty sure than both Milton and Carré are fueled by pure rage at this point.”

Fitz made an attempt to sit up straight, and Jemma found she did not like it.

“Wow,” said Daisy. “You guys are ridiculous. When are you two going to admit that you have a thing for each other?”

Fitz cocked his head. “What do you—”

But he was cut off by the warning bell, and the both of them groaned, knowing their very last break was over. 

“Come on, Fitz,” Jemma said, “let’s go. There’s just an hour left. Less than that, really.”

Fitz acquiesced, and when he put his hand in hers, she wondered why they’d never thought of doing this before.

* * *

“It’s almost twelve, Jemma.”

“It was twelve six hours ago.”

“It’s almost six, then.”

He lifted his head from where he’d rested it on top of hers, presumably so he could squint at their competition. 

“They’re still there,” he whispered. 

“I know they are, Fitz,” she whispered back.

“Well, what happens if we’re both still here at the end?”

Jemma had to think about it. She had, of course, read the rule book cover to cover several times, but she was so exhausted that it was hard to—

“Oh, no. _Fitz_.”

“What?”

“If nobody wins, there’s a runoff!”

“Wait,” he said, “if nobody wins, we just dance like this until one of us drops dead?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head more forcefully than she needed to. “They’ll sound a buzzer, and we’ll have to race around the dance floor. The first couple over the finish line wins.”

“What?”

He was so startled that Jemma was afraid he’d fall over right then.

“I’m so sorry, Fitz.”

“I have to run? After all we’ve been through already?”

“Yes, and you have to hold my hand the whole time. But I really thought it wouldn’t get to that!”

Fitz was about to argue when May, who was surprisingly alert, made her announcement over the loudspeaker.

“The two remaining couples will start the runoff in ten, nine, eight, seven, six . . .”

“Jemma.”

“Fitz!”

“Five, four, three . . .”

“Fitz, you’re still my best friend in the world.”

“Yeah, and you’re more than that, Jemma.”

_“What?”_

“Two, one, GO!”

Before she had time to process what happened, they were off, racing towards the finish line at a truly pathetic pace. Her only consolation was that Milton and Carré seemed to be behind them. 

“Imagine there’s a bed, Fitz!”

He turned back to look at her. “What?”

“Imagine there’s a big, beautiful bed at the end! Just keep running towards it!”

Fitz squinted at her. “Okay.”

She imagined that the bed was soft as a pillow and big enough for the two of them. All they had to do was push a little harder, go a little bit farther, and all of this would be over.

When they rounded a corner, she could see the finish line, but Milton and Carré were gaining.

“Go, Fitz!”

“What?”

“I said go!”

“I _am_ going!”

“That’s not what I—”

She was stopped by a big, soft mass, and it took her a second to realize it was Fitz. They were falling.

She tried to stop the motion, but she was too tired, and it was too fast. They tumbled downward onto the cool, flat floor, and she knew there was no way they were getting back up again. But a thought came to her head.

“Fitz?”

She crawled around, trying to see him when she felt something hit her in the ribs, then crash. She barely noticed.

“Fitz, are you okay?”

She struggled to reposition herself so she could see his beautiful face, tired but whole. She curled up against him.

“Fitz, are you okay?”

“Mhmmm,” he answered, “’r you?”

“Yeah,” she said, “tucking herself under his arm as exhaustion claimed her. This was no big, beautiful bed, but it would have to do.

“Good night, Fitz.”

* * *

She woke up in a cocoon, not of blankets but of flesh, and it took her a moment to realize it was Fitz. After a while, it all came back—the competition, the runoff, the fall. Fitz. She was about to forget all about it and snuggle closer to him when she felt something tug at her shoulder.

“Jemma.”

“Hmmm?”

“Jemma, wake up.”

“Bobbi?”

She lifted her head, squinted her eyes and, sure enough, the face that looked down at her matched Bobbi’s voice. 

“You have to get up, Jemma.”

Bobbi offered a hand, and Jemma groaned as she took it, missing Fitz’s embrace as much as she dreaded standing upright.

“How long was I—”

“About twenty minutes,” Bobbi answered. Behind them, Jemma could hear Hunter trying to rouse Fitz. “Wouldn’t have been that long, but Milton broke his nose. He almost tripped over you.”

“He what? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Bobbi soothed. “Hey, let me help you.” 

Allowing Bobbi to support her weight was so nice that Jemma almost wanted to cry.

“You’re sure he’s okay?”

“He’s a little upset that he lost,” Hunter chimed in. “Poor fellow didn’t realize you two could win lying down.”

“What?” Jemma squeezed her eyes shut. “I thought—”

“He almost tripped over you,” explained Bobbi, “but he and Carré fell backwards instead. You guys were closer to the finish line, so you won fair and square.”

Jemma only wished she had the energy to be elated.

“It’s okay,” said Bobbi. “We’ll load you into our comfortable car, then we’ll load you into our comfortable guest bed, and then you can sleep as long as you’d like.”

Jemma’s last thought before drifting off was that it all sounded very nice.

* * *

The next time Jemma woke up, she once again found herself in a cocoon. This time, however, she was lying on a cloud, and she felt absolutely lovely. She should always wake up this way, she decided. 

She lifted herself up to look at her intrepid dance partner and found that he was looking back at her.

“Hey, Fitz,” she said.

“Hey.”

She probably should have pulled away, overcome with embarrassment. But the intimacy of the last twenty-four hours, coupled with the exhaustion still weighing down on her bones, kept her right where she was.

“We won,” she said.

He smiled sheepishly. “I heard.” 

She mirrored his smile, nodding to herself. Of course he heard. How could she think he hadn’t? 

“About . . . about what I said.” Fitz looked down, unwilling to meet her gaze. “I know we were tired, and I was there as your friend, so I probably should have just kept my mouth shut. I’m sorry.”

Jemma cocked her head at him. “Did you mean it?”

His eyes flicked up at her, then back down. “Uh, yeah.”

“Well,” said Jemma, “I’m glad you did.”

His head shot up. “You are?”

She dared to cup his jaw, rubbing her thumb over his stubble.

“Yeah.”

When his eyes went to her lips, she knew her response was inevitable. She met him halfway, savoring the softness of the kiss, feeling this was as natural as falling asleep. She smiled when they broke apart, unable to let go of his face.

“Did you ever think,” she said, “when you showed up at that dance marathon, just to support me, that things would end up this way?”

“No,” he answered, shaking his head, “I usually like to take a girl to dinner first.”

“Well,” she said, smiling, “we can do that, too. But do we have to do it now? I’m still—”

“No, you’re right. No need to get up now. Don’t know if I could, actually. You’d be amazed at how comfortable it is to sleep without a shoe under your ribs.”

She furrowed her brow. “A shoe?”

“Yeah, that’s what I tripped over. Someone just left a shoe on the floor.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hunter.”

“Oh, really?” Fitz frowned thoughtfully. “Well then, I guess he could repay us by letting us sleep the day away in his bed. Least he could do, really.”

Jemma answered by pulling him down, guiding his arms to wrap around her once again. How did they fit together so well? How did his presence give her so much comfort? The moment her head hit the pillow, she started drifting off.

“Jemma?”

“Hmm?

She felt his fingers tracing lightly over her back.

“Dinner?”

She smiled as she curled into him, content to stay like this forever.

“Dinner,” she said.

**Author's Note:**

> I regularly post sneak peeks and general ramblings about my writing on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/tagged/Writings%20of%20Agent%2085).


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